So This is Love
by electric dreams
Summary: My first fanfic, rated M for safety. There's trouble brewing in Tusaine. Alanna/George Set after Alanna and George are married, before they've had children.
1. Chapter 1

**My first real fanfic, so all comments are VERY appreciated. **

**Nothing much mine, all Tamora Pierce.**

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The Baron of Pirate's Swoop paused, wine goblet halfway to his lips. A copper-haired woman was making her way over to his table, walking briskly through the crowded ballroom, her dark purple gown swishing noisily with her every movement. Replacing his goblet on the table, untouched, George turned to her as she resumed her place next to him, a smile threatening to break loose on his ruggedly handsome face.

"What is it lass, that has you so worked up?" he asked.

Alanna smiled at him. He could see the faint beginnings of lines at the corners of her eyes.

"Nothing that concerns you, Baron Snoop," she replied. George said nothing, but merely raised an eyebrow. His wife laughed.

The room was filled with countless guests; nobles, knights, scholars, and mages. The occasion of the Queen's birthday was always cause for a large banquet and ball, and this birthday was no exception. George surveyed the room, searching for the person Alanna had come from. A group of ladies moved position slightly, causing him to catch a glimpse of Raoul and Gary emerging from an antechamber of the ballroom. Gary wore a slight frown.

Alanna talking brought him back to the table.

"What was that, my love?"

"I only asked if you had seen Jon yet tonight," she said, "or have you been stuck to this table all evening for fear of getting lost?" She smirked.

"I've never been lost in my life!"

Her smirk changed into a devilish smile. "That's strange, I particularly recall a time when we were wandering around High Street in the middle of the night, with not a person in sight!"

She was getting at something, he just knew it. Her taunting smile was contagious and he felt himself beginning to grin back at her.

"No lass, I'm quite sure we were never lost in High Street, or any other street," he said.

"Oh?" she leaned over to him, her arms twining around his strong back, "Then perhaps we should be...later tonight."

George knew he was grinning now. Leaning a little closer, his lips were about to catch hers...

"Baron, Lady Knight, would you care for more wine?"

George let out an internal sigh and sat up. Glancing across at Alanna, she looked about to stick her fork into the poor boy's eye.

After the page had refilled their cups most proficiently, Alanna slid closer to her husband and wrapped her arms around his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his neck in a pleasing way.

They sat that way for awhile, simply watching the happenings around the room. The Queen was wearing a magnificent golden gown tonight, the beading catching the light as she conversed with one of her ladies. Her hair was once again in a cascade of black curls and ringlets, featuring twinkling jewelled pins, making her hair reminiscent of the night sky. At a table close to that of the monarchs, George could see a young noble—probably no more than nineteen—staring, besotted, at his Queen. George couldn't help but smile. He himself was sometimes, though he was loathe to admit it, scared to be so close to Thayet. She was beautiful, it was true, but perhaps too beautiful.

With his left hand, George managed to drain the remaining wine from his goblet. That damn page. He had drunk far too much wine. He looked down at his wife, genuinely unhappy at the thought of having to detach her from him. He sighed.

"Alanna."

"Hmm."

"Alanna." He had begun to slowly unwind her clinging arms from his own arm, when a knight approached their table. Geoffrey, he thought his name was. It was difficult to remember everyone's name with a barrel full of wine in you.

Alanna let him leave as Geoffrey took his place. Walking towards the privy, George glanced back to see the two knights talking closely, though his Alanna did not seem as cheerful as she had earlier in the evening. George pondered this as he made his way across the room, nodding at the people he knew and avoiding the gaze of some conservative old bat in an ancient black gown. He had almost reached the door which led, by way of three more rooms, to the privy, when Myles of Olau caught sight of him.

"Ah George" he said, a slight slur to his words, "not looking good, is it?"

George was caught quite unaware by this statement. His mind was elsewhere, 'elsewhere' being 'the privy'.

"What is it that's not 'looking good' Myles?"

"Why, you haven't heard?"

George shook his head. Some court scandal was what he was talking about no doubt. Myles clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Why, 'tis Tusaine, isn't it m'boy. Trouble brewing once more, I've heard. Surely you knew?" Myles' tone was serious now, his eyes focussed on George.

Tusaine? He had heard of no such trouble. Although, he hadn't received word from his man in Tusaine for...three weeks now. He frowned. Lately, he had been busy with other work, arranging agents in the Copper Isles. Perhaps he had better send someone...

"Ah George," Myles said again, "I know it's a shame. Two weeks is hardly enough time together, yet she has her duty..."

"What?" said George.

Myles smiled sadly at him. "Alanna. Patrols are being sent to Tusaine, to try and discourage conflict..."

George felt as though his insides had turned to ice.

"...but by jove, they can't do much now. It's too late for that. There'll be war, no doubts about that."

Myles clapped him on the shoulder once more, and moved away, no doubt to refill his goblet. No wonder the man was drinking.

Looking across the room, between the lords and ladies on the floor, Alanna was talking to Geoffrey at their table. Her eyes were sad, though her mouth formed a smile. She had only returned to him two days ago. He could feel the beginning of a headache, pins in his head. Across the room, Alanna's gaze turned, and found his. He could see the sadness of his eyes and heart reflected in her own purple eyes. It only made him want her more.

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**Well, REVIEW! Next chapter will hopefully be up soon!**

**electric dreams**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, what's this? It's Chapter 2!!**

**I'm sorry this has taken so long! I actually finished the first half or so of this chapter a few months ago, but got swamped by uni work and other stuff, and only just had enough time to finish it. If there are any terrible spelling mistakes or something, please let me know, because I haven't checked it because I was in such a ruch to get it up here! **

**This chapter is slightly longer than the first, and hopefully the following chapters will be longer still, once we get into some action. **

**Please comment! **

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It had been a whole week since George had discovered the unwelcome news about Tusaine, and he and his wife had yet to discuss it. They did not avoid each other, no, that would be foolish with only another week together. Rather they avoided the conversation that was, without question, inevitably going to arise.

It was late one night, a night where the cold found a way into every inch of the Swoop, when George found himself awake in bed with no notion of what it was that had woken him. Rubbing his tired eyes with one hand, he sent his other hand in search of Alanna (and her delightfully warm body) only to find that she was not there beside him. This startled George for a moment, before he heard a faint _clunk clunk clunk_ echoing from outside the bedroom door, and remembered that only moments before something had awoken him from a very sound sleep. Thankful for his habit of sleeping in breeches, a habit he couldn't quite give up despite the number of years that had passed, George pulled on his boots and quietly made his way to the bedroom's door. All the while, the _clunk clunk clunk_ing had continued, a noise George was keen to put a stop to since he was getting a bit of a headache. Trying to mentally will away the growing pain in his temples, he closed his hand around the doorknob. He could feel that it was Alanna making all that noise, he didn't need the Sight to be able to put two and two together. Slowly opening the door a crack, he saw that it was indeed Alanna who was stomping up and down the corridor. Taking her in, he couldn't help but smile. She was dressed in her nightshirt and boots—the source of the _clunk clunk clunk_ing—as well as a huge padded coat, woollen gloves and padded hat sporting earflaps. It was the most peculiar, and adorable, sight he had ever witnessed. He opened the door wider and Alanna looked up. He could see that he had startled her, though she hadn't shown it. She was still shivering despite her warm attire.

"Did I wake you George?"

George opened the door fully and walked the few paces towards her, putting his arms around her. Her arms went around his waist too, though she had an easier time of it: her coat was so large that with his arms wrapped around her, his hands couldn't meet at the back. He managed to suppress a chuckle at Alanna's dislike of the cold. Alanna manoeuvred her head until it was resting under his chin, her hair tickling his chest. He breathed in the smell of her, relishing in what little warmth he was getting from their embrace.

"George?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry."

"What have you to be sorry for, Alanna?"

She looked up into his face, "I'm sorry that I have to go, to Tusaine."

Looking down into her sad purple eyes, George felt like his heart was breaking.

"I'm sorry too, love, I'm sorry too."

The next few days passed quicker than both would have liked. Each time they sat down to dinner their food went cold because they had spent the whole meal simply looking at each other. Every afternoon they went on a long ride along the coastline, and George would watch his wife's long red locks flying behind her as she galloped ahead of him. And every night, they would go to bed, savouring each other's body heat during the chilly nights, and endeavouring to relearn every inch of their bodies before they would be separated in a few days time.

When the morning finally came for Alanna depart, things went very slowly. Though they had both decided to get up early in order to go over her supplies one final time, for many minutes they simply laid in bed holding hands. In the darkened bedroom, George brought Alanna's hand up to his lips and kissed it slowly. She sighed.

"I wish I didn't have to go, George," she said softly. After a moment, she added, "This is the first time I've ever seriously considered deserting Jon and shirking my responsibilities, just so I could stay with you." That made George chuckle, and he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

"I know, lass," he replied, "If there was a way for you to stay a while longer, I'd take it."

They looked at each other, silently, for a moment longer, before Alanna finally pulled out of her husband's embrace to get up and dress herself. George stayed in bed, chin propped up on his hand, watching her tiptoeing around on the cold floor. It was still dark outside: there would be at least two more hours until the sun rose, and then she would set off for the city to meet with the other knights who would be leaving for Tusaine.

After Alanna had finished dressing, and had packed what little number of personal items that were not yet with her other gear for the journey, George jumped up. Dressing quickly and throwing a handful of water on his face to ensure he was fully awake, he then grabbed his wife's waiting hand and they made their way down to the dining room. Breakfast has already been set out on the table for them; Maude must have gotten up very early. George made a note to thank her later, once he'd come back from seeing Alanna off. But for now, they ate their breakfast alone, talking about simple things such as the horses, what needed to be repaired around the Swoop, and what Coram was up to. Coram had left the Swoop a few months ago to settle down properly at Trebond with his new wife, Rispah. When they were saying their goodbyes all those months ago, Rispah had good-naturedly whispered in Alanna's ear that it was about time that she had Coram all to herself. Despite the father-daughter relationship she had with Coram, Alanna couldn't help but laugh. She had finally grown used to Rispah's animated personality, and actually enjoyed her companionship.

Having finished what would be their last meal together for a long time, Alanna and George headed out to the stables, where the horses had been prepared and were waiting impatiently, a few servants milling around and talking amongst themselves. George would be the only one to accompany Alanna back to Corus, where she would meet up with the other knights (and possibly some of the Riders too) and a few final details would be given out, and then on to the border between Tortall and Tusaine.

Unfortunately, George would not be travelling with the group all the way to the border, as that would risk giving some of the uninformed knights and Riders time to figure out who exactly he was to the Crown. George and Jonathon had spent quite a few hours debating this, with Jonathon finally overruling, naturally. They both knew it was extremely unlikely that anyone would discover George's true identity, but the King preferred to alleviate problems before they had a chance to occur. In truth, George knew Jonathon was making the right decision, but that didn't change the fact that his early removal from the riding party meant less time spent with Alanna. They were not yet certain how long the Tortallan group needed to be in Tusaine, which made George even more nervous than before. Alanna was completely capable of taking care of herself, but she had a temper on her, and you could never account for unhappy accidents of surprises.

By this time, both Alanna and George had saddled up, the servants double-checking that their saddlebags and Alanna's weapons and shield were firmly attached. When they were sure that everything was as it should be, the servants moved away from the horses, allowing George and Alanna to walk them out of the stable. Coming to a stop, they edged their horses around so Alanna could address the gathered workers.

"Thankyou all for your help," she began. George could hardly suppress a smile: having ensured the smooth running of Fief Trebond for quite some time after her father's death, Alanna had grown to be quite the expert at running the Swoop.

"I'm not sure yet of how long I'll be away for," she continued, "But I'm sure you'll be able to keep George on his toes until I return." There was a ripple of laughter at that comment, and George raised an eyebrow at his wife. She seemed very amused with herself.

"I hope you will all keep up the fine job you've been doing here, while I'm away. As you know, the situation in Tusaine has grown serious. No doubt, there could be a few raids by Tusaine aggressors near the border in a few weeks. Being situated where we are, there should be no trouble, but that does not mean you should let your guard down. Be safe. Thankyou, once again, and I hope to see you all safe and well in a few months," she finished with a smile.

There was a polite smattering of applause, a few people yelling out messages of luck or "Goddess Bless!" as George and Alanna turned their horses once again and set them walking out of the Swoop.

The sun would rise in an hour's time, and they would be well on their way to Tortall. Once the Swoop was barely in sight anymore, they stopped so Alanna could have one last look at it. She would certainly miss being home. As something squeezed her heart in her chest, an overwhelming feeling of loss surged through her, an omen of something dangerously dire in the near future. George looked at her, his face blank, though she knew he had read the worry on her face and was trying to hide his own discomfort. She forced herself to smile, and urged her mount onward.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N:** Yes, it's been too long. I've been busy writing fic over at Goldenlake, so this story has kind of taken a back seat. I'll keep posting updates for _this_ story on , but for new stories of mine you might want to check out The King's Own, a new Tamora Pierce fic archive that's really easy to use. Just a warning, because I'm a bit lazy and might not get around to posting all my new stuff here. For a link to The King's Own (and Goldenlake), go to my profile.

Hope you enjoy the chapter :)

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"I, er...your Majesty?"

King Jonathon was jolted awake, his quill screeching haphazardly across the eleventh, no, _twelfth_ decree he had been in the process of fixing his signature to. Attempting to look somewhat alert and king-like, his attention finally rested on the young page (Gods, they were getting smaller every year!) who was hovering inside the doorway of his private study. Jonathon arranged his face into what he hoped was a welcoming expression.

"Yes, my good lad?"

"Your Majesty," the boy bowed low, before continuing, "Sir Gareth of Naxen requested that I inform you that Her Royal Majesty the Queen—"

"Yes, yes," Jonathon waved his hand impatiently, "what about my wife?"

The boy gulped, stuttered, cleared his throat, and:

"Her Majesty was seen leaving the Palace grounds with some of the Riders in the direction of the Royal Forest. Riding." He added.

Jonathon's eyebrows knit together ferociously. The page took this as his cue to leave.

Closing the door mutely behind him, the page looked up just in time to see Sir Gareth himself strolling towards him. _The Younger. Sir Gareth the Younger. Knew I forgot something._

"What's that Ferell?" When Ferell merely shook his head—no use admitting to people that you talk to yourself, after all—Sir Gareth grinned a conspiratorial grin at him, motioning to the door. The sound of the King arguing with himself could faintly be heard through the polished oak.

"Told him, have you?" Ferell nodded. Sir Gareth's grin broadened.

"Well, lad, you'd better run along then, free time's not what it used to be."

Gary watched the boy trot off down the hall until he was round a corner and out of sight. He then smoothed back his hair, steeled himself, and opened the door.

"You!" were the first words, or word, rather, that greeted him. He tried to stop a smile from spreading across his face. Jon looked positively livid with frustration.

"Yes , Sire, it is I: noblest of knights, bravest of soldiers, most dashing of..."

"You." Jon was pointing at him now, his temper more under control than it had been a moment ago, "The page said that _you_ saw them riding out, why didn't you _stop her!?_"

"Stop her? She's the Queen, Jon! I couldn't bloody well drag her from her horse, now, could I?"

"You could have _tried_!"

Gary sulked while Jon continued to glare at him.

"It's not easy, you know," Jon went on, straightening and restraightening the pile of papers in front of him, "I have to worry about her all the time. It's not like she's got a giant pumpkin in there, it's a _baby. My _baby. If something were to happen to her..."

"I honestly think you're worrying too much."

"Really."

"Yes, really. Thayet wouldn't do anything that would put your heir in harm's way; you have to start giving her credit for all this. She knows what she can handle."

Jonathon scowled. "You're right, of course. But I'm not sure how much more _I_ can handle. It's only been a few months, for Mithros' sake, can you imagine what I'll have to deal with when she's as big as a--"

"Look," Gary said, "Worry about that when it comes. Enjoy these carefree days you have left. And finish your paperwork."

He left after those few words of wisdom, and Jonathon felt his anger deflating. He needed to rage, to be angry at someone, but now he didn't have the motivation. Gary was right: he needed to enjoy himself while he had the time. Now, where had he put his sword?

*****

The training grounds were surprisingly empty; the pages must still be in their academic classes at this time of day. Walking down towards an empty practise court, Jonathon gave his sword an experimental swing. It had been a long time since he'd done any physical activity for he'd been cooped up in his study most days, signing paperwork and overviewing the running of the kingdom. He was just thinking that he should have brought someone to fence against when he saw a page running in his direction from the corner of his eye. He lowered his sword with a sigh. What now?

"Your Majesty," the boy panted, bowing low. Jonathon was getting rather tired of young boys who had the bad habit of turning up when he least needed them. He motioned for the lad to continue.

"Baron Cooper is waiting in your study, Sire, I asked him what business he—"

"No, it's alright lad, Baron Cooper doesn't need a reason," Jonathon sighed. He dismissed the page and looked resignedly at the sword in his hand. He was too busy to make time for himself now, what would it be like when the baby arrived? Would he even have time to be a good father?

*****

When he entered his study—he may as well put a bed in there, considering how much time he spent there—George had made himself comfortable in his desk chair, his back to the door.

Jon always got a strange urge to try and sneak up on the former King of the Rogue, he wasn't quite sure why. As always though, he remembered that he was a grown man (and a king!) and grown men sneaking up on each other was not done. Unless they were trying to kill each other.

"Jon," George said in greeting, startling him from his thoughts. Turning to look over his shoulder at Jon, he gave him the once over. "You look a right mess."

Jonathon scowled. "And so I should, I've been run off my feet lately." He pulled up the chair on this side of his desk, since George had stolen his.

His spymaster raised an eyebrow in interest, "Thayet giving you trouble?"

"She's only the start of it. Look George," Jon sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, "I'm a busy man, what do you want?" Seeing George was strange; he looked his usual self, though there was a tightness around his eyes that told Jon he was worried about something. Still, he looked much better than Jon looked and felt, which was unfair.

George looked him in the eye. _So this is business_, Jon thought. George hardly ever talked directly to him about spymaster work, more often sending information through Myles or his agents at the palace.

"I haven't had word from my man in Tusaine for about three weeks now," George said, hazel eyes grave, "I want to know how this whole 'war' has come about without me hearing a thing about it, and permission to send two more agents across the border."

Jonathon clenched and unclenched his jaw. "I can't tell you that George."

"Why not."

The way he said it, it wasn't a question. Was George _angry?_ Jon wondered. "I just can't, not at the present time," Jon said, rising from his seat, "You can send your agents. I want a report as soon as they're in position." He motioned to the door with his head.

George rose from his seat slowly. As he passed by Jon on the way out, he looked down at him for a moment, and in that moment Jon could feel all his authority slipping away.

"They're already in position. You'll have your report in a week," he said without feeling.

After George had left—Jon wished he had slammed the door, or _something_—the room was eerily quiet. He looked at the papers scattered over his desk in dismay; he was back exactly where he had started, except now he had a strange feeling in his chest that he couldn't shake.


End file.
